


Holy Days

by gaygreekgladiator (ama)



Series: Your Body is a Temple [3]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/gaygreekgladiator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Germans invented Christmas trees, you know. Now they take them very, very seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rivlee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/gifts), [brandedwithfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandedwithfire/gifts).



> It's here! It's kind of late, and completely unbeta'd and barely looked over, but it's here. Merry Christmas and enjoy. :)

“Tomorrow morning we should do the Christmas tree,” Duro announced.

“Sounds good,” Auctus said as he sipped his peppermint tea and idly flipped through catalogues. Twenty-year-old him would have hated himself, but hey, why _not_ use a coupon if you could? “I have a tree in storage somewhere; we might need to buy some more ornaments and stuff, though.”

“The _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Duro said, horrified. Auctus looked up, confused.

“What?”

“Jesus Christ, we’re not using some _plastic_ _tree_. We should go tomorrow and pick one up from Dave’s, I mean.”

Auctus frowned.

“I don’t know… real trees are always losing needles and dripping sap and it’s just a lot of hassle. Kore has these pine oils that make the fake ones smell—”

He stopped talking abruptly as Duro walked around and sat on the table in front of him, his face warped into a deadly serious expression. He leaned forward and kissed Auctus on the cheek.

“Honey, I love you—but I am not even joking when I say that this is the dealbreaker to break all deals.”

His eyes bore into Auctus’s intently.

“Okay…”

“Fantastic.”

Duro kissed him lightly on the lips, grabbed his jacket, and cheerfully headed off to work, leaving one very bemused Auctus with his tea.

-

“Oh look,” Auctus said peevishly. “They’re all here at nine o’clock, right on time. It’s almost as if we could have gotten here _when they opened_ instead of _three hours earlier_.”

Duro laughed as though it was a joke—it wasn’t—and slipped his arm through Auctus’s. He was wearing only a denim jacket and heavy work gloves, which Auctus thought to be incredibly unfair, seeing as he himself had to be bribed with a marshmallow coat, a woolen scarf, mittens, a Santa Clause hat (any hat would do, but Duro insisted), and a half-gallon of hot chocolate just to leave the house in December. Let alone at _five thirty in the morning_ in December.

“I like getting here early. Besides, I gave you hot chocolate and a blow job—I’d call that three hours well spent.”

“Say it a little louder, Duro, I would love to get arrested right now,” he hissed.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t get arrested unless someone actually sees you, and I told you five million times that there was no one around. Relax, it’s Christmas!”

“No it’s not.”

They strolled up to a rickety table that bore a cash box, a poster that gave information on the different types of trees and their prices, and a redheaded teenage girl who stared at Duro with utmost loathing.

“Hey, Thalia,” Duro said cheerfully, oblivious as always.

“Hi. What do you want this year?”

“I think we’re going to go for a balsam fir. Vastly underrated as a Christmas tree,” he said in an undertone to Auctus. “Any objections?”

“No?”

“Great!”

Thalia turned around and surveyed the trees behind her.

“That one’s a balsam,” she said, gesturing.

“Do I look like Charlie Brown to you?”

“Duro, Duro, Duro,” Auctus said hastily, grabbing him by the shoulder. “How about we go pick it out ourselves, okay? Isn’t it better that way?”

Duro shrugged his acquiescence, and Thalia shot Auctus a look that couldn’t quite be described as _grateful_. If he had to put it in words, he would say something like _fine, if you don’t want me to murder him, I guess that’s your call_. Duro babbled happily as they wandered among the trees, not knowing how close he had come to death.

“How long have you been coming here?” Auctus asked, inspecting a squat, fluffy tree.

“God, forever. Since me and Agron were kids. Don’t bother—that one’s a Scottish pine.”

“How can you tell?”

“How can you not? Dave has a few dozen nieces; they kind of rotate shifts throughout the season. Thalia’s actually really good with trees, she’s just a bit lacking in the holiday spirit, don’t you think? Oh, and if we can find a tree that’s seven feet five inches, that would be ideal.”

They had spent nearly half an hour looking at different trees—Auctus had given up after he had been yelled at, for the fifth time, for not being able to tell between douglas, fraser, and balsam firs—when he saw a familiar fluffy pink coat. He craned his head, surprised, and turned to Duro.

“You didn’t tell me this was a family event.”

Duro froze.

“It’s not. Why?”

“Because Chadara and Saxa are here. And I saw Agron and Nasir over by that clump there, and Donar and Mira were talking to them.” Suddenly, a raucous “HO, HO, HO” split the cold morning air. “And Lugo’s here, too, apparently.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Duro ducked behind trees as he began to rush towards the back of the lot. Auctus followed.

“We need to hurry up, then—these trees are all crap. C’mon, let’s look at the ones in the pile.”

“Are we allowed to do that?”

Duro ignored him and set about examining the trees piled in a long row on the ground. There had to be hundreds of them; the lot had only about fifty poles where trees could be tied up and inspected standing, and all of the rest of them were kept at the edge. It was intimidating, to see the least. Duro dived in with gusto.

“Got it!” he crowed. “Here, help me get this.”

Reluctantly, Auctus bent down and began to lift the enormous, fat, heavy, sap-sticky balsam fir from the pile.

“Took you long enough.”

Duro dropped the tree in surprise, and Auctus swore at him. He stumbled back just quickly enough to avoid dropping the trunk on his toes, and turned around.

“Damnit, Nasir!” Duro said angrily. “If any of the branches are broken because of that—”

“How early did he make you get up?” Nasir asked Auctus.

“Five thirty.”

“Wow, Duro. Just wow.”

“Oh please, I know for a fact that you and Agron scoped the place out two days ago.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Nasir said with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter—we would have won anyway.”

He gestured behind him, and Auctus saw that Agron was circling a tall, deep green tree with all of the adorable eagerness of a rabid wolf.

“Clearly compensating for something,” Donar said dryly. Nasir scowled.

“Jesus, Donar, why are you even _here_? We all know you’re just going to chop down another Norway Spruce a week before Christmas so you and Mira can act out your bizarre lumbjerack fantasies.”

“Someone sounds bitter,” Mira said smugly.

“I’m not bitter. It was _obvious_ that we won—it’s not my fault that Mama Friedman has a soft spot for newlyweds. Trust me, don’t expect to win this year.”

“Win what?” Auctus asked. He was ignored.

“Hey, bitches,” Saxa called triumphantly, as she and Chadara walked up with a tree held between them. “Fighting over second place already?”

“Scotch pine, Saxa, really?” Duro sneered. “You are _such_ a tree hipster.”

“You’re one to talk,” Agron announced, straying just far away from his coveted tree for conversation. “Mr. ‘Balsam is vastly underrated.’ Holy fuck, Saxa, you’re getting a scotch and you didn’t even buy your girlfriend thicker gloves? You’re an awful person.”

“Tell me about it,” Chadara said grimly. Auctus eyed the spiky pine needles and grimaced. Those looked painful.

“No pain, no gain. And seriously, all you fuckers better prepare yourself, because this year we are _gaining_ the big one—”

“What is going on?” Auctus asked again. Again, he was ignored.

Truth be told, he was kind of glad that everyone had apparently forgotten, because the argument was very, very close to becoming a family brawl in the middle of the lot.

“We were robbed—”

“The Norway Spruce is a shitty ass tree—“

“I just want to put this goddamn thing down—“

“—axe is in the car if you want to go—”

“Stop whining, Nasir, god—“

“You have no idea what you’re doing—”

“Ah HA!” Lugo said in a booming voice. “The perfect tree! Christmas will be good to Lugo this time—oh, guten morgen, everybody. Nobody told me we were all coming together this year!”

Lugo smiled at them all, completely oblivious. Then Agron spoke, his voice deadly soft.

“That one’s ours, Lugo.”

Lugo shrugged.

“Not in your car, not your tree.”

“Damnit, Lugo, we picked this out two days ago—” Nasir interrupted.

“I _knew_ it!”

“—and painted the little red circle around the trunk, that’s our mark, that’s our tree.”

Lugo shrugged again, and deliberately turned his back. Nasir stalked towards him, and for half a terrifying second, Auctus honest-to-god thought he was about to watch his brother-not-in-law start a fist fight while picking out Christmas trees, with the rest of the relatives-not-in-law eager to join in.

Before any punches could be thrown, however, an employee walked boldly into the middle of the loose circle of bloodthirsty Germans. He was wearing loose jeans, a thick flannel shirt, and a custom-made baseball hat that read “Hey, I’m Dave!” Auctus had never been so grateful to see a baseball hat in his entire life.

“There are Friedmans fighting in my lot,” he said cheerfully. “Now I _know_ it’s Christmas.”

“We’re not fighting,” Agron protested. He drew Nasir closer and tried to soothe him with a hug. Nasir huffed. “We’re just talking.”

“Plus we’re not all Friedmans,” Donar piped up. “I for one am insulted at being grouped with the lesser members of the family—”

“Fuck you, axe boy.”

“Settle down, settle down,” Dave said, gesturing for peace. “All right, let’s see here: Duro’s got his, Saxa’s got hers—welcome, new folk, by the way—and I assume Donar and Mira are waiting on that spruce. What seems to be the problem?”

“Lugo is taking our tree,” Agron blurted out, thoroughly unaware of how petulant his voice sounded.

“You do not _reserve_ trees,” Lugo said indignantly. Dave frowned and adjusted the brim of his cap.

“That’s true, boys. We settled this last year—you can’t call a tree days ahead of time. That’s not fair to any of you, or any of my other customers.”

Nasir looked slightly embarrassed at being caught, but he persisted.

“We just wanted to make sure we’d be able to find it again once the lot opened for real; we were here before Lugo, we found our tree, and then he managed to claim it the second we looked away. It’s ridiculous.”

It really didn’t take long for the calm, reasoned discussion to descend into bickering again. Auctus rubbed his temples and dreamed of the day when he would wake up next to a nice, respectable Duro with a nice, respectable family.

Okay, maybe it was a pipe dream.

Or a pipe nightmare.

But still, he was getting a headache.

“Agron and Nasir were here first,” he said loudly. The argument halted. “They found the tree. Agron was walking around it while he waited for the employees to get here so they could carry that giant-ass thing over to the baling system.” He pointed to two frightened-looking teenaged boys who were hanging on the edge of the circle of people. “When he walked away to talk to us, Lugo came from the other side and picked out the same tree.”

“New guy keeps an even head,” Dave said approvingly. “Nice job, Duro.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay. Agron and Nasir get the tree—c’mon, Lugo, we’ll catch up and go pick out a new one. Merry Christmas, everybody! This was practically painless!”

Lugo grumbled, but clapped Doug on the back as they walked away. Chadara and Saxa lifted their tree again and began walking over to the baling system, while Nasir began to direct the young employees.

“Thanks, man,” Agron said to Auctus with a grin. “Still gonna kick your ass, though.”

“What the hell is going on?” Auctus asked weakly.

Mira patted him fondly on the shoulder.

“Welcome to hell.”

-

By the time they made it back to Duro’s truck, Auctus’s headache had worsened. Duro offered him a sympathy blowjob, which he refused, and they drove back home with soft Celtic ballads playing in the background.

They carried the tree up to the apartment. Duro, without being told, went to put on a pot of tea; Auctus opened the window, leaned out, and came back with a pigeon.

“Explain,” he said shortly.

“We like Christmas trees,” Duro said with a shrug. He sat on the couch beside Auctus and handed him his cup of tea.

“Explain more.”

“It’s a point of pride for us. Germans came up with the idea of Christmas trees, you know. It’s, like, our thing. So every year, we have a contest to see who can decorate the best one. Our mom picks the winner.”

Auctus sipped from his tea slowly for a minute, contemplating murder, and set it down gently.

“Is that all?”

Duro eyed him apprehensively.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Auctus pinched the bridge of his nose, and the pigeon rustled its feathers uncomfortably. “Only you—only your family would get into such a mess over Christmas trees.”

“Sorry I didn’t warn you,” Duro said.

Suddenly, he leaned over and buried his face in Auctus’s chest, arms wrapping loosely around his waist. Goddamnit. Auctus had a secret fondness for snuggling which he tried to keep under wraps because he had a reputation to uphold. But on a cold winter day, on the couch, with a hot beverage…

He sighed, released the pigeon, and buried one hand in Duro’s soft, curly hair. Duro grunted his approval.

“No, it’s fine… in retrospect, I should have expected it. Is there a prize for this competition thing?”

“Besides pride? Yeah. My mom makes her famous black forest cake, and the winner gets the whole thing. It’s like—it’s a big fucking deal, okay? She makes it once a year, from scratch, and no one else can get it right. I can’t even tell you how many times Agron and I tried to do it. We must have tried thirty different recipes, and it’s never, ever as good as Mama’s.”

Auctus bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. It was hard. He kept of Agron and Duro, covered in cocoa powder and cherry juice, flipping through recipes and elbowing each other out of the way, and it was probably the most adorable thing he had ever imagined. He kissed Duro’s forehead.

“All right. We’re winning it.”

Duro looked up at him with a grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome. We need to think up a theme. Traditional or contemporary?”

“Um, traditional?”

Duro’s mouth twitched into a frown.

“That means we have to go up against Agron and Nasir.”

“Since when has Agron favored traditional _anything_?”

“Since he married the event planner with a freakishly good eye for color-coordination. Experimentation is all well and good, but they know their strengths and they know how to win. Donar and Mira go for traditional, too, and that’s usually hit or miss. Lugo and Saxa favor contemporary.”      

“And you?”

Duro shrugged.

“I’m flexible. Besides, its our first real Christmas together; we should work out our own style.”

Auctus’s heart skipped a beat at that, and he pulled Duro closer. First Christmas. He liked the sound of that. Wiggling slightly, he maneuvered so that they were lying down on the couch, with Duro’s hair still tickling his chin.

“Sorry about last year,” he mumbled. Duro kissed his neck.

“Don’t worry about it. As long as we kick ass, all is forgiven.”

Auctus’s hands rubbed slow circles into Duro’s back. Slowly, Duro’s breathing began to slow. It was always like this; he was capable of getting up early in the morning, if he was really excited, but he always crashed later.

“Go to sleep, babe. We’ll finish later.”

“Mmhm.”

Within seconds, Duro was snoring quietly. Auctus tilted his head back and closed his eyes. A pigeon landed on his forehead.

-

The next day, they convened at lunch to discuss theme in detail. Auctus had at first thought that this decorating thing, while adorable, was still a bit ridiculous. After an hour of brainstorming on his own, he had to admit that he was starting to understand. His family had never been big on themes. They had a mishmash of ornaments, tinsel, and maybe a garland, and they were done. He had taken a few of his favorite baubles when he moved out, and maybe he had color-coordinated once or twice, but he had never put much effort into decorating his tree.

Seriously, even coming up with a _theme_ was hard. By the end of his brainstorming session, Auctus was ready to go the whole nine yards. He had not put all that mental effort into this thing already just to make a shitty tree.

“All right,” Duro said, sitting down at the kitchen table, list in hand. “What’ve you got?”

“Tree of life.”

“That is… no. Halloween tree.”

“I don’t want that in my living room for a month. Gold star.”

“Tacky. Hollywood stars.”

“Overdone. Jack frost.”

“Boring. Pink and blue.”

“We’re not pregnant, Duro. Doves.”

“Jesus Christ, no. Snowman.”

“Not bad, not great. Red and Gold.”

“Can’t—those are Gryffindor colors, you’re obviously a Huffleclaw. Game of Thrones.”

“What does that even mean? Organic Eco—”

“You’re boring me. Footloose/Dirty Dancing.”

“Those aren’t themes, those are _words_. Okay, this isn’t working.” Auctus threw his list down with a sigh. “You said we need to work out our own style, right? Well, what happens when the two of us have completely _different_ styles?”

“Then… we think of something that we have in common,” Duro suggested, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. There was a pause. “What the fuck do we have in common?”

Auctus stared across the table from him, and his mind went completely blank.

He loved Duro, obviously, and he could think of a thousand things about _Duro_ that could make a decoration scheme. But… none of them applied to himself, as well. He didn’t have any tattoos, or piercings, and he didn’t listen to every kind of music from rap to classical to hard metal, and he wasn’t particularly fond of mystery novels, he hated cars and he couldn’t speak German or Spanish and he didn’t really like _people_ or making new friends.

He was at a loss. He looked at Duro, who stared at him just as intently before slowly, deliberately, stating, “Food.”

Auctus laughed in his face.

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Nope.”

“Duro, everything you eat is fried, fatty, or over processed—”

“Or full of meat.”

“—and everything I eat is organic and five minutes out of the ground. Food is probably the thing we have least in common.”

“Exactly. We don’t like the same kinds of food, but we both really like food, so if we do a food-themed Christmas tree, then they’re be a lot of variety. Or no, wait,” he said excitedly. “What if we make the ornaments out of food? Out of gingerbread?”

Auctus paused to consider it.

“That is actually fantastic.”

Duro leapt up excitedly, kissed Auctus on the cheek, and then headed for the door.

“It’s creative as fuck, too, because we’ll be _making_ everything. Awesome. I’m gonna go get supplies—you keep brainstorming!”

“But—”

The door slammed on Auctus protests. He looked down at his brainstorming notebook. It was a mess of scrawled words, frustrated crossing-outs, and question marks. With a sigh, he flipped to a fresh sheet and started again.

-

It took them a full day to make enough ornaments—gingerbread houses, gingerbread people, and gingerbread birds. Their kitchen was going to smell like cinnamon for a month, Auctus thought grimly, but he surveyed the drying ornaments with a sense of pride. They had managed all right, for people who couldn’t really bake worth a damn. Not that he was planning on eating them, of course… the glue would not be delicious.

He had two days of rest in which to do actual work while the ornaments dried fully, and then one evening Duro dragged him back into the kitchen.

“All right, now it’s decorating time,” he said, plopping down at the table with an enormous tray of goopy, multicolored piles.

“What’s that?”

“Mixed glue and paint, duh. It holds better than frosting, but we have to use all of it tonight before it dries. How many gingerpeople will you allow to have tattoos?”

“Is that really necessary?”

“This tree must be an accurate presentation of both our personalities, darling. Body-mod gingerpeople are a must. Here, look, I made plenty of grey and white glue for your pigeons. This guy’s getting a tribal.”

Auctus looked at the little flock of ornaments, and couldn’t help but grin a little.

“I was thinking of getting some mint leaves, and like lacquering them so they stay longer—for the doves, you know? Doves of peace, or something.”

Duro beamed at him.

“That’s my man,” he said approvingly. “I’ll pick some up tomorrow on my way home. Your freaky organic food place would have it, right? And peppermints? We could probably make peppermint balls for ornaments.”

“Definitely. And isn’t there a kind of candy that looks like ribbon?”

“For a garland?”

“Exactly!”

Suddenly, Duro dropped his decorating apparatus and stood, yanking Auctus closer for a kiss. Auctus made a noise of pleased surprised and wrapped his arms around Duro’s neck.

“This is going to be the best Christmas ever. Seriously,” Duro murmured, pressing loud kisses to his cheek and neck when Auctus laughed and pushed him away.

“You go paint your tattoos—I’ll make hot chocolate.”

-

He wasn’t laughing a week later, when he was sitting at a table at Swirls with a huge bowl of cranberries, string, a needle, and multiple puncture wounds on his fingers. Auctus muttered curses and threw down the needle. At that same moment, the door opened and Pietros’s ridiculously chipper voice rang out.

“Whoa! What’s up, boss?”

Auctus grunted.

“He’s been like this for hours,” Diona said, amused. “It’s supposed to be a string of cranberries for the Christmas tree.”

“It looks like a bloody mess.”

“It has not been hours,” Auctus said crossly. “I’m getting the hang of it. Mother _fucker_.”

The needle slipped off of the smooth cranberry skin and dug into his finger. Pietros bit back a laugh, and Auctus looked up, hoping to inspire pity.

“Help me.”

“I’m supposed to be actually working right now.”

“Go ahead,” Diona said, waving her hand. “Help your boss before he bleeds out and stops paying us.”

Pietros shrugged off his coat and sat down. He plucked the needle from Auctus’s hand, picked up a cranberry, and effortlessly slipped it onto the garland, which had six other berries on it—the product of nearly forty minutes’ work. Auctus stared at it for a moment, and then looked up.

“How?”

“Put the needle through the bottom, where there’s the little indent, not from the side. Did you seriously not know that?”

Auctus groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“Nasir and Agron’s tree doesn’t require this much bloodletting.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Don’t even try,” Pietros said with a smirk. “I have been properly educated on this whole thing and sworn to secrecy. Here.”

He handed over the needle, and Auctus sighed as he accepted it.

“Once this is done, I need to add crystalize these. Then I need to crystalize the mint leaves, and put together another gingerbread house, find ribbon-candy-patterned-ribbon, and go to a prop shop in Norwood that specializes in realistic food props. We’re trying to find an angel-food-cake topper.”

“Man, this family is nuts,” Diona chuckled. “I want to be a fly on the wall when everything goes down. All right, I really have to go, now—I have an audition today.”

She shrugged on her coat, kissed Pietros on the cheek, waved at Auctus, and whistled on her way out. He despised cheerful people.

“I can’t believe I’m even doing this,” he sighed.

“I can,” Pietros chirped. He stood and went behind the counter; every once in a while, they did like to pretend that they had actual jobs, and professionalism, and things of that nature. “I called it, remember? Way back when. So, first Christmas together—are you excited?”

“Mmhm.” Auctus successfully stringed three cranberries in a row and almost crowed in triumph.

“What’s the plan?”

“Christmas Eve we’re heading up to Boston for my parents’ house. My sisters are coming, and Julia’s daughter is a bit too young to be staying very late, so we’ll probably be back by ten at the latest. Then at ten-thirty the next morning we’re off to Duro’s mom’s place in South Hadley for lunch and dinner.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Pietros shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I was just going to ask what time you were coming over to our place, but of course you’re busy. Forget about it.”

“Shit.”

Auctus had started joining Barca and Pietros for Christmas Day several years ago, once he and Barca had finally completed the transition from lovers to awkward acquaintances to friends. It had made sense. Auctus really didn’t like spending all of Christmas in the city, and Barca and Pietros liked to have a little company. Pietros really wasn’t very close to any of his foster siblings, and… well, everyone agreed that it was best if Barca’s father just stayed away.

“I completely forgot. I am so, so sorry—”

“No, seriously,” Pietros said with a gracious smile. “It’s totally fine. I get it. You have two families to visit, and you’re just getting the hang of it, and I don’t want to add any stress.”

“Pietros, seriously, I’m sorry, I was just overwhelmed.”

Pietros came from around the counter and placed a drink at Auctus’s side—vanilla peppermint, with a few frozen cranberries bobbing teasing at the top. He rubbed Auctus’s shoulder soothingly.

“I know. Next year.”

“Please don’t seduce Auctus,” Duro announced as he barged through the door. “That three-way codependent relationship is creepy enough, and I don’t want to have to run away with Barca. He scares me.”

“Where is your coat?” Auctus demanded. Duro looked down at his bare arms and pink-tipped fingers, and then sheepishly at Auctus.

“I just ducked out from work real quick to get something to eat—it’s not _that_ cold.”

“There’s a thirty percent chance of snow today.”

Duro shrugged and stepped forward to press an apologetic kiss to Auctus’s mouth. Auctus was surprised his lips weren’t blue, to be honest, because they there freezing.

“Yeah, you’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about us,” Pietros said with a laugh, as he went to make Duro some more hot chocolate.

-

It was only a week and a half until Christmas. Auctus was putting the final touches on the mint-bearing doves when there was a knock on the door. Hastily, he dragged a sheet over the tree and answered it.

“Chadara? Hi.”

“Hey. Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Auctus stepped aside and let her in. She looked tired and overworked, and immediately he headed for the kitchen.

“Tea?”

“Can I put vodka in it?”

“I’ve got whiskey and gin.”

Chadara thought about it, and then politely requested whiskey. Auctus laughed politely, turned around, and secretly slipped out his phone as he reached for the kettle. _Chadara @ apartment. Freaking out SOS_. Nasir texted him back almost immediately, and Auctus began to brew the tea.

“So what’s up?”

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re not thinking the same thing I am.”

“No, I don’t think I am,” he said slowly. “Do you want to talk?”

“Give me whiskey first.”

Auctus brewed the tea in silence, and dug out a few vegan shortbread cookies. Chadara took one and nibbled it miserably, then took a huge gulp of tea. There was a long silence.

“So…”

“I don’t know if I can deal with this,” she blurted out. “It’s just—Saxa is so _enthusiastic_ about everything, and it’s kind of terrifying, and I tried to talk to Donar about it but you can just imagine how helpful he was. I don’t know what to do, I honestly don’t, and I need a break but…” She sighed and rubbed her temple. “I don’t want to fuck this up by leaving, but I feel like it’s falling apart anyway. I thought maybe it was a family thing. Does this ever happen with you and Duro?”

“Wow,” Auctus croaked out. He reached over and added a generous helping of whiskey to his own mug. Chadara’s face turned bright red.

“That was too personal, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… fine, I guess, I mean I want to, you know, help, it’s a lot to take in…”

There was a knock on the door, and Auctus jumped up to answer it. Nasir and Mira were both standing there, laden down with shopping bags, which they shoved into his hands as soon as they stepped over the threshold.

“Thank God you’re here, I need help.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Mira grumbled as she tugged off her scarf.

“How is she?” Nasir asked, his voice laden with concern.

“In the kitchen.”

“That’s not what I asked—”

“You called in _back up_?” Chadara snapped.

Auctus shrugged helplessly.

“I’m not good at… talking. And besides, they’ve both known you longer than I have.”

“True,” she acknowledged miserably. “Can I have more whiskey?”

Auctus bustled around, making more tea, while Mira and Nasir coaxed the full story out of Chadara. It was disturbingly familiar. Saxa was a completely over-the-top, enthusiastic girlfriend, but almost too over-the-top: too energetic to notice the fine details, obliging Chadara when she needed to fight but then pretending it had never happened, and completely blasé about bringing up Big Picture Stuff, which was terrifying and comforting at the same time.

He stared into his tea and frowned.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she concluded with a hiccup. Tears were brimming in the corner of her eyes, and Nasir wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I think… I might need some time away. But what if she’s not there when I come back?”

“Honey, you can’t break up with her just because you’re confused,” Mira said in a soothing voice.

“Yes, she can,” Nasir interrupted. He tilted Chadara’s chin up. “You’re not dating her because you feel obliged to be in a serious relationship. You’re dating her because you love her, and if you’re not sure that you do, then you _can_ end it.”

“But…” Chadara said.

“But at the same time, you can’t _break up_ with her because you feel obliged to be in a serious relationship, and because you’re afraid that it’s going to go the same way as all of your other relationships. You can’t judge Saxa’s feelings based on the feelings of Rhaskos or Donar or Camilla or anyone else you’ve dated, because that’s not fair to her or to them. And if you’re feeling overwhelmed, then tell her so. Trust me, she’s been there already. You know how many times Agron proposed to me? Seven. They’re a very extroverted family.”

She let out a watery laugh and rubbed her face.

“And sometimes it’s the complete opposite,” Mira chimed in helpfully. “Sometimes you can completely overlook real affection because you don’t expect it. You remember what a wreck I was in college over Spartacus?”

“I remember refusing to get drunk with you because I couldn’t listen to another word about him,” Chadara chuckled.”

“Exactly. I was so sure that every man had the same commitment issues as he did. I was over Naevia’s one night, ranting and raving about how Donar was the exact same way, about we were never going to be anything serious, that I was going to dump him that very night, and then I went home and I realized that we had basically moved in together already. If I had let my baggage get in the way, then I would have missed out on something very important and—and I’m really glad I didn’t.”

Chadara reached out and squeezed her hand, and Mira smiled. Nasir looked at Auctus, his eyes questioning. Auctus knew what he wanted; Nasir assumed that anyone who could date such disparate people as Duro and Barca _must_ have some kind of “Let go of your ex and the shit associated with them” kind of story to share. Auctus looked down at his empty mug.

“I broke up with Duro,” he blurted out.

Mira gasped, Chadara choked on her tea, and Nasir dropped his mug.

“ _When_?” he demanded.

“Oh—oh no, not _recently_.” All three of them heaved a collective sigh, and Mira punched his shoulder. “No, no, last year, I mean. It was building up for a while; I was just having a really stressful time and I was taking it out on him and I knew it was happening. I had this constant fear that he was going to break up with me, so one morning he asked if I wanted to go help pick out Christmas decorations and I said that he was suffocating me.”

“Oh my god, Auctus,” Mira sighed.

“I know. It was cruel and unfair and… I don’t know, I guess that’s what happens when you don’t trust yourself. And I was damn lucky. He was angry, obviously, and we shouted at each other for a while, but in the end he just said that if I needed a break, he would give me a break, and I was miserable until New Year’s when I got off my ass and realized what a shithead I was being.”

“Did the break help, though?” Chadara asked tentatively.

“No. The break made me feel like shit—talking with him afterwards is what helped.”

“Agron never told me this,” Nasir said faintly.

“Agron doesn’t know.”

“Bullshit. Duro tells him everything.”

“Duro tells him everything, unless I ask him not to. Last year he just went skiing five times in December so he could tell Agron that he was too busy to see me much, which wasn’t technically lying.”

“Duro _lied to Agron_ for you?” Nasir asked in a low, thunderstruck voice. Auctus shrugged with a fond smile on his lips.

“Yeah.” He looked at Chadara. “That’s the thing about their family; they’re annoying as fuck, but they’re also more loyal than any people I’ve ever met. Having that kind of power over someone is—terrifying—but I agree with Mira. I wouldn’t change my decision for the world.”

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, then Chadara took a deep, shaky breath.

“I should call Saxa,” she said quietly. “I’ve been avoiding her recently, and you’re right; we need to talk. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“We should do this more often,” Mira said, glancing around the table. “You know—get together so we can brag, vent, find a woman for Lugo, and just generally empathize about semi-belonging to the most ridiculous family on the face of the planet.”

“Fucking Germans,” Nasir muttered, and they all laughed.

-

“Duro, will you relax?” Auctus said as Duro flitted around the Christmas tree, making miniscule adjustments that, in Auctus’s opinion, did absolutely nothing to change the overall effect.

The tree was perfect. A cluster of gingerbread houses at the bottom provided a base, with gingerbread people scattered over the tree and a flock of gingerbread birds (all bearing mint leaves) fluttered at the top. There were crisscrossing garlands of ribbon candy and crystallized cranberries. Strawberries paired with mint leaves served as boughs of holly, and peppermint balls were hung sparingly, with good judgment. At the very top was perched a fake angel food cake, with a collection of candy canes bursting through the whole in the center. The only other faux-decorations were the tiny coffee and smoothie-cup ornaments, which Pietros had definitely not given them, absolutely not, no, because that would be favoritism and he would never do that.

It was magnificent, and Auctus was exhausted, and Duro was still fretting.

“I’m relaxed,” he said with a frown. “I just think—”

“—that it could be better, I know,” Auctus said, wrapping his arms around Duro’s waist. “But you’re wrong. It’s perfect, and your mom’s going to love it, and we’re obviously going to win, because we’re fantastic.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Duro said with a grin.

He turned and laced his fingers behind Auctus’s neck, and then they were kissing. It was a wonderful feeling, being wrapped up and consumed by the man he loved, and let himself fall into it. He was  so caught up in the languid movement of Duro’s lips and the sweetness of his breath against his lips that he almost didn’t notice the knock on the door.

“We should get that,” he murmured idly.

Duro kissed the side of his neck and scraped his earlobe with his teeth.

“That’s a good idea,” he said, sounding not the least bit concerned, and Auctus shivered as his lips continued to slide over the skin behind and below his ear. He was getting goosebumps. “We shouldn’t give my mom another reason to dislike you.”

He broke away and went to the door, and Auctus was left, stunned, in his wake.

“Another reason?” he demanded in a hiss. “Your mom doesn’t like me?”

“Uh, duh?”

“Uh, duh,” Auctus muttered under his breath. “Why doesn’t she like me?”

He hastened over to join Duro at the door, and Duro just gave him a look. His heart sank.

“You told her?”

“Have you ever tried lying to my mother? It’s fine, forget about it, she’ll like you after today. _Tag, Mama_!”

Duro enveloped his mother in a hug, and Auctus was left awkwardly smiling at his side. Duro’s mother looked a lot like him, from her eyes to her dark, curly hair, to her stubborn refusal to wear weather-appropriate clothing. On this particular day, she was wearing a dark velvet coat, which she shrugged off as she stepped forward to greet Auctus.

“Good to see you,” she said with a smile.

“You, too, ma’am,” he said. Oh fuck, what if she didn’t like to be called ma’am? Some people didn’t. But surely she would have said something before now, right?

She smiled and stretched up to kiss his cheek. Goddamnit, Auctus should have known she didn’t like him—she never hugged him. Friedmans were big huggers. Should he try to hug her? No, that’d be weird. He took her coat and stepped aside.

“Would you like some tea? Or coffee? Or hot chocolate, if we still have any left—”

“—we don’t,” Duro called, guiding his mother into the living room. “Let’s cut the chit-chat and talk trees, shall we?”

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you.”

Auctus had prepared a pot already, before he knew that Mrs. Friedman disliked him. Now, he poured it into their best mug, and hurriedly prepared a full tray of cookies, sugar, and cream—why didn’t they have half-and-half? Amateur mistake. He tried his best to look cheerful as he brought it out, but it was difficult. He just didn’t do cheerful. He walked in just as Duro finished explaining the overall theme of the tree.

“Very nice, Duro—certainly an improvement on some of the past years’. Auctus seems to have been a good influence.”

“The theme was Duro’s idea,” Auctus announced, handing over her coffee. “I was just the muscle.”

“Ah,” she said in a neutral voice, but he couldn’t help but feel as though a point had been lost.

“Auctus came up with a lot of the ornaments, though,” Duro said quickly. “Like you see the pigeons and the doves, with the leaves? He really likes birds, for some reason.”

“Do you? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who liked pigeons.”

Auctus shrugged and sipped at his own coffee to hide his nervousness.

“Yeah, I’m not quite sure why… I just find them to be very smart. They can be annoying, I suppose, but…”

He trailed off, and Mrs. Friedman smiled.

“How did you find this whole process?” she asked politely. “It can be intimidating, hm?”

“A bit, yeah. The cranberry strings were a pain in the ass—sorry.”

“I am Agron’s mother,” she reminded him. Auctus grinned.

“Right. Well, yeah, those were annoying as hell, but it was fun coming up with the different ornaments to fit the themes. And the gingerbread decorations were wonderful—did you see these, over here?” He pointed to a small cluster of tattood gingerpeople. “Duro did the frosting on those. They look fantastic, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Duro’s always been very good with artsy things. I thought he would be some kind of painter when he grew up, you know, but he just never had the patience…”

They chatted about Duro for a few minutes before going back to the Christmas tree, but Auctus wasn’t worried anymore; they had reached common ground, and he escorted her to the door thirty minutes later with a sense of relief. He had met Mrs. Friedman before, of course, and had similar conversations, but this one made him feel much more confident.

As soon as the door closed, Duro pulled him into a hug and bestowed a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Good?”

“Great!”

“You seriously think she liked it?”

“The tree? No idea. I think she liked _you_.”

Suddenly, Auctus felt a rush of cheerfulness. He couldn’t wait until Christmas.

-

The food was eaten, the presents were opened, and hugs were exchanged. Then, finally, Agron settled down in the living room to set up the projector, and the air of family civility disappeared.

“There’s a slideshow?” Auctus said to Duro under his breath.

“How else do we get to mock everybody else?” Duro said cheerfully, leaning against him. He had been drinking eggnog for a few hours, which just made him comfortably affectionate with everyone. Everybody except Saxa was amused.

Suddenly, the entire room hushed, and heads turned. Auctus followed their gaze, and his jaw dropped.

Mrs. Friedman was striding majestically through the kitchen doorway to the living room, bearing a platter on which the prized cake rested. Frankly, Auctus was astounded that she could carry it, because it was the largest non-sheet cake he had ever seen. It was at least three layers, covered in whipped cream and chocolate shavings. On the plate was a ring of chocolate-covered, bite-sized pieces.

“What are those?” Auctus whispered.

“The round ones are _schokokusse_ —marshmallow biscuits, and then the other ones are _dominosteine_ —biscuits, then a layer of cherry, then marzipan.”

His mouth was watering. He thought of their tree, and made a fervent wish.

“All right, who’s up first?” Mira said as she settled into the most comfortable armchair. Donar sat beside her, while Agron set up shop near the projector with Nasir on one side and his mother on the other. There were only three more spaces on the couch; Lugo grabbed one, and, after a furious game of rock paper scissors with Saxa and Chadara, Duro and Auctus sat on the floor.

“Chadara and Saxa, I think.”

Agron clicked a few buttons, and the first Christmas tree appeared on the wall. They had definitely gone for a contemporary theme; in fact, Auctus might even call it punk rock. Most of the ornaments were album covers, instruments, and what appeared to be _chains_.

“What’s on top?” Donar asked, squinting at the star-shaped picture.

“Joan Jett,” Saxa said as though it were obvious.

“Naturally.”

“Next is Lugo,” Mrs. Friedman said, and they moved on.

Lugo’s tree was… well, _garish_ had to be the best word for it. The entire thing was spray-painted in rainbow colors, and the garlands were neon pink and purple. There was a pause as everyone took a moment to comprehend it.

“Three-quarters of this family is queer, and Lugo manages to make the gayest tree,” Agron said, deadpan.

“Don we now our gay apparel,” Lugo said, smiling, and Auctus paused. Lugo’s entire tree was a giant pun—that was good. He looked at Duro, who shook his head without the slightest bit of concern.

“It’s a good idea, but I’m incapable of looking at it without wanting to gouge my own eyes out. Execution is key.”

After that was their Christmas tree, and then Donar and Mira’s, which Auctus found rather underwhelming. Agron and Nasir’s was last, and it was more intimidating.

Their theme was obviously White Christmas, and it was flawlessly executed. Fake snow dusted the branches and the ornaments were snowflakes, icicles, and white-feathered doves. Carefully-placed electric candles gave the entire thing a heavenly glow, and the only spots of color were the snowman on top, with its red scarf and coal eyes, and the garland: a long stream of paper on which Agron had written lines from their favorite winter poems and songs.

Auctus glanced nervously at Duro again, but Duro did not make eye contact.

“My, my, this was a spectacular year for Christmas trees,” Mrs. Friedman said brightly, completely ignoring the fact that the younger generation was practically foaming at the mouth to find out the results. “I know I would be hard pressed to choose one that stood out…”

“Ma,” Agron groaned. “We do this every damn year—”

“—well if you’re so impatient, I’ll end the suspense: you lost.”

Agron and Nasir looked like they had been slapped, Duro laughed out loud, and Saxa clutched at Chadara’s hand. Auctus leaned forward excitedly. If Agron and Nasir were out of the running….

“The winners are Duro and Auctus.”

“YES!” Duro crowed triumphantly, diving for the cake. He popped one of the cherries into his mouth with a satisfied sound. “Victory is sweet.”

Auctus, on his part, leapt forward and enveloped Mrs. Friedman in a hug. There was an awkward pause but then, tentatively, she hugged him back. Auctus beamed, broke away, and pulled Duro into a victorious kiss.

“365 days of gloating,” Duro grinned. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Agron grumbled. “Lugo, will you get plates and forks?”

“Hold on,” Auctus said with a frown. “What’s the point of winning if we have to share?”

Agron shrugged.

“Duro always shares.”

“Candy’s all ours, though,” Duro said cheerfully.

“No, no, no, no, no, fuck no,” Auctus growled, blocking Lugo’s way. “I worked too damn hard on those cranberries just to split the prize! Back off.”

For a terrifying half-second, he thought he had overstepped. Then Mama Friedman snorted.

“Usually it takes at least two years for people to become that competitive,” she said wryly. “Welcome to the family, Auctus.”

She sat back and pulled out her knitting serenely. Auctus was smiling to wide it almost hurt, and Duro handed him a congratulatory cherry. Normally he hated maraschino cherries, but Duro was right— success made it sweet.

Suddenly, Mira cleared her throat.

“I’d just like to say something real quick. As you all may have noticed, Donar and I scaled back on the decorations this year. The reason for that is because we thought it would be a bit unfair to kick everybody’s asses twice in a row.”

This statement was, naturally, met with a chorus of jeers.

“Cocky much?” Chadara said, which Auctus thought was a bit unfair coming from Saxa’s girlfriend.

“Confident. In fact, we already have next year’s theme picked out.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, pastel-yellow ornament. There was a pause as everyone leaned closer to read the words printed on it: _Baby’s First Christmas_.

Then the world exploded.

Lugo and Chadara screamed. Saxa clapped wildly. Mrs. Friedman tackled Mira—that was the only word for it—while her sons piled on Donar, and Auctus sighed loudly, and went to get a knife and plates and forks. After that, they _had_ to share the victory cake.

-

“Saxa needs to borrow the truck next week,” Duro said on the drive back.

“Why? Doesn’t she have one of her own?”

“Yep. But Chadara is moving in with her, so she needs to get rid of all of her shitty furniture and replace it with Chadara’s things.” His voice became airy. “Kind of funny, actually—two weeks ago she was panicking that Char was going to panic and leave her because she kept talking about some kind of break, and now everything’s right as rain and they’re moving in together.”

“Funny,” Auctus agreed, looking out the window. Duro reached over and laced their fingers together, and didn’t say a word.

-

They had left the Friedman’s with about twenty pounds of leftovers, most of which they brought up to Barca and Pietros’s apartment, because Auctus felt bad about showing up unannounced, and because Duro believed that the only thing better than a surprise was a surprise with food. (Only about a third of the cake was left, so that remained in the truck.) It became inconvenient, though, when they were waiting at least five minutes outside the door before a giddy Pietros answered.

“Sorry! Sorry—you made it!”

“Of course,” Auctus said with a grin as he deposited the food on the kitchen table. At the same moment, Barca emerged from the hallway that lead to the bathroom and the two bedrooms, looking distinctly ruffled—Auctus pretended not to notice. “You don’t think I’d make you spend the holidays alone with this asshole for two years in a row, did you?”

“That joke is never funny,” Barca said, despite the fact that it made Pietros giggle. “He says that every year,” he informed Duro.

“I’m dating him for the sex, not the jokes,” Duro said with a shrug, holding up the gift bag. “Presents now or later?”

“Later,” Barca said. He gave Pietros a small smile. “Tell them.”

“You sure?”

Barca nodded, and Pietros held up his right hand. On his ring finger was a new, shiny gold band. Duro gave a congratulatory shout. Auctus was not surprised. He turned to Barca with a nostalgic smile and gave him a congratulatory punch to the shoulder.

“Well done.”

“Thanks.”

Duro was still investigating Pietros’s ring. A tiny engraved sun, sprinkled with diamonds, was in the center of it, which made Duro whistle in admiration.

“Rings under the Christmas tree? It’s almost too adorable.”

“They weren’t under the tree,” Pietros said, grinning broadly. “We were just talking about it, because I thought—I don’t know, that seemed like a good, healthy thing to do, you know, talking about the future and whatnot—”

“—and they were in my bedside drawer,” Barca concluded. “Where they’ve been for the past year and a half. Obviously we’re waiting until Pietros finishes grad school, so I wasn’t going to bring it up…”

“And it’ll be a small wedding, because I’d like to _pay_ for grad school, so you two have to promise me you’ll help keep Nasir and Naevia at arm’s length.”

“You got it,” Auctus said. He stepped forward and hugged Pietros tightly. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

Then he walked straight out of the apartment to get more cake.

-

“All of that work, and we ended up with one freaking piece,” Auctus said mournfully as they sat on the couch together that night. Duro laughed and leaned against him.

“ _And_ all the candy,” he pointed out.

Auctus smiled and took another bite. Damn, Mama Friedman could _bake_. He let out a contented sigh, and Duro leaned forward for a deep, thorough kiss. He tasted like chocolate and wine, and Auctus was reluctant to pull away.

“Thanks for putting up with this,” Duro murmured. “I know it’s a lot to handle.”

“It was fun.”

“Mm. I love this time of year. I just like giving presents, you know? And getting presents. And eating, and decorating, and… seeing all of this happen. People getting engaged, moving in together, having babies…”

“Celebrating their first Christmas?” Auctus suggested with a smile. He took another sip of wine, and Duro kissed him lightly again.

“Exactly. And did you see the look Agron gave Nasir? They’ll be procreating before you know it.”

Auctus laughed and set down the platter of cake, which was empty except for a few crumbs and a pile of chocolate-covered treats that Duro would be picking at for the next week.

“Merry Christmas, Duro.”

“Merry Christmas, babe. Now, I don’t mean to be forward, but how would you feel about having sex on the floor in front of our award-winning Christmas tree?”


End file.
